


to love, to kiss, to sweetly hold

by Julx3tte



Series: hidden beneath the kissing folds and lily pads [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soccer, F/M, Feels, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 08:45:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julx3tte/pseuds/Julx3tte
Summary: They meet at a church that neither of them attend; then at a party with warm, cinnamon drinks:"So,” she says with a wide smile. “Score any goals recently?” She makes little legs using her fingers, kicking the air.Harry’s not in the haze he’d been in after church, but he’s in some kind of haze alright, because the first thing that tumbles out of his mouth is a resolute, “Harry Potter always scores.”





	to love, to kiss, to sweetly hold

**Author's Note:**

> In which they meet at church, of all places, and then a party. In which Harry is poked by Ginny, who's always sharp to new strangers. In which Harry has had one too much liquid luck.
> 
> The writing bug bit me, so I decided to try my hand at writing what I know. It starts quirky, then fun, then as sweet as I could make it. I hope you feel the feels I did!

He first sees her at church, of all places. (Harry doesn’t normally go to church, and later, he’d find out neither did she).

It’s a fine Sunday morning to sleep in, but here he was awake for the 9:30 service. He’s never really been to churches, but as far as new experiences go, it’s not so bad. There’s a lot less suits and “AMEN!”’s than he thought there would be, and whatever the pastor’s talking about seems to make sense. He’d probably have better luck understanding if there weren’t the distracting mane of red hair two rows in front and one aisle over from him.

He’s only here because he made Ron, his roommate, a deal. Harry’s First Real College Experience Resolution was to have a new experience every Sunday. First on the list was to go to a real college party, but he didn’t know how to get into one. Luckily, some of Ron’s clubmates had been planning on hosting a get together for someone’s birthday. Ron made him a deal -  go to church that morning, come to the party with me that night.

Not a bad trade.

So, Harry sits and stands and sits again, claps along to a song he’s never heard of and tries not to get hit when the lady in front of him sticks her hands up into the air a little too aggressively, making her hair fly right into Harry’s face. He listens when Ron gives him the rundown of what to expect (you can just look down when they pray, and stand and look around when the singing starts  -- _what singing_ , Harry had asked to Ron’s laughter -- and here’s all the people you’ll see at the party tonight).

All in all it’s not so bad of a way to spend the first hour and a half of a Sunday. It sort of reminds him of when he used to go with his parents, although the Potters are an old family and went to an old, scary looking cathedral with an equally old priest that (he’d heard) enjoyed his scotch a little more than he had a few decades prior.

It reminds him of why he’d spent the last few years at home and transferred in, instead of following Hermione right away. Of his grandfather’s health, of a summer in the hospital, of refusing to leave his parents’ side even though he was sacrificing two years of soccer eligibility.

When the pastor raises up the communion tray, Harry is brought back to the funeral just a month ago: his family and a half in black, his father James barely able to speak, and the same little wafers passed around in silence.

He takes a wafer, munches on it despite the pastor’s _please only partake if you have accepted the Lord Jesus into your heart_ , tells Ron he’ll explain when they get back.

Here, it’s just, well, young people. Young families, children, a few pairs of grandparents, and mostly college kids like him, and it’s the other kind of peaceful, like all that is finally miles and months away and he doesn’t have to be anything other than a student.

 

* * *

 

And it’s fine and new enough mostly, until he meets Ginny.

It turns out cute firehair girl is both Ron’s sister and his childhood best friend’s best friend. Specifically, Hermione, who he didn’t even realize was here, walks right to him with Ginny in arm and gives him a peck on the cheek.

They hadn’t seen each other since Fleamont’s funeral, and she can see in his eyes that he’s thinking about it. So, she points to Ginny and introduces them. Ron gives Ginny a hug, gets a shove for his trouble, and Hermione a kiss. Harry connects a few dots in his head.

It’s Ginny who breaks the ice. “So you’re the soccer star, eh?” He doesn’t notice when Ron and Hermione break off to talk in private.

“I- uh. Wouldn’t call myself a star.” He looks right at her- brown eyes, too many freckles from the sun, strands of red hair dangling, quickly brushed off. “Perhaps a Gas Giant?” he forces an awkward smile.

“Sure.” A pause. “So, uh. What’d you think of the service? Is that what I’m supposed to ask?” She laughs, and he’s unsure why until she continues. “I don’t usually come to these kinds of things, but Hermione made me and she’s not in a mood this week to be argued with.”

Harry laughs. “I’m glad it’s you and not me for once. We grew up together. Ron made me come here in exchange for admission to a, uh, get together tonight.” He hopes he’s not too obvious about the party. (He is. Ginny laughs and says she knows the whole crew).

She points down to her foot. Harry follows her hand (past her shoulders, visible through a slit in her blouse; very quickly beyond her waist; lost in her legs) to see a brace wrapping up half a sandal. “But really, tell me more about soccer. I play too, well, once this foot finally fixes itself.”

“I know that feeling. I haven’t played in months and my foot feels all sorts of itchy. I learned from my dad, who used to be pro. But I haven’t played with a team in a while...” Harry runs his hands through his hair nervously - a Potter Family Trait, and keeps his eyes on the ground a second or two too long for him to notice Ginny bite her lip.

Over in the corner, Ron and Hermione share _a look_ before coming back over before Ginny can ask “how come?”

“I’ll see you at the party tonight,” Ginny waves before leaving with Hermione, arm in arm again.

“See you for tea!” Hermione says over her shoulder.

It’s a pleasant walk back to their dorm room. Harry replays their conversation, gets stuck a little thinking about Ginny with her kit on. Promises himself that he’s already having two new experiences today, what’s talking to a not-so-stranger about why he hasn’t been playing soccer?

 

* * *

 

Parties, Harry decides, aren’t as bad as he thought they would be. Definitely not wild like the movies, but not too awkward either. It helps that most everyone seems to know each other, and enough people recognize him as Ron’s roommate that it’s easy to start conversation. Doesn’t hurt that he’s had a beer and a half, and a shot of something suspicious and cinnamon.

Harry makes his way through to the snacks, manages _not_ to get roped into beer pong, and bumps right into a grinning Ginny. He awkwardly picks up some crackers.

“So,” she says with a wide smile. “Score any goals recently?” She makes little legs using her fingers, kicking the air.

Harry’s not in the haze he’d been in after church, but he’s in some kind of haze alright, because the first thing that tumbles out of his mouth is a resolute, “Harry Potter always scores.”

It sounds right out of the college movies he’d watched in middle school, and he’s horrified. Harry covers his mouth with a hand.

Ginny just smirks and scrunches her eyebrows, takes swig of her drink, and says “is that so? Fancy going out to the fields? I have they key.” She takes a keyring out of her pocket and winks.

* * *

 

Harry shrugs - he did decide to try new things, and drunk soccer with Ginny sounds fantastic right now, so they go. They get out to the fields, nick a ball from the shed, and pass it around. Ginny’s passes are more accurate than someone with a healing foot ought to have, Harry thinks.

“When did you get hurt?”

Ginny stops her pass, flexes her foot. “Last summer. I was training for tryouts and missed a tackle, twisted my ankle the wrong way and kicked something a little too hard. Out of action for months, but I think I’ll make tryouts in a few weeks.”

“I turned down a scholarship,” Harry says. “A few years back, me and Hermione both got full rides. But I wasn’t ready then, to go so far from home.” He catches the pass with a flick of his foot and juggles the ball in the air. “But I was too old for my club team, and rec leagues weren’t enough practice, so I stopped playing.”

They stand, for a moment. Ginny looks down at her foot, flexes and tests it some more. Harry juggles the ball, ruffles his hair. He thinks about the day he sat his parents down and told them he wouldn’t leave them - couldn’t - until Fleamont was through the worst of it.

“So I worked at my parent’s business for a while, took some community college classes to transfer here when it was time. Decided I did like business after all, on the bright side.” Harry’s looking up at the stars now, still juggling, but he notices Ginny tilt her head at the goalposts and passes the ball to her.

“For every goal - tell me more,” she says and walks to the goalkeeper’s line.

“Harry Potter always scores,” he laughs.

They finish at 5-3 for Ginny. Harry misses a key shot to the corner by inches; Ginny saves one by the tips of her fingers. They’re lying on the grass, looking at the stars.

“One,” Ginny begins. “My brothers always made me play goalkeeper growing up. I’ve got six of them. Bill, Charlie, and Percy, who’re all working now. Twins, Fred and George, who are basically graduated, though it’s typically called study aboard (Harry has to stifle a laugh). And Ron.”

“One,” Harry continues. “Only child of an only child. But my family’s known Hermione’s for years - her dad’s our family dentist, and we grew up together. She threw books back at me when I’d throw paper airplanes. We built sandcastles taller than we were once.”

Ginny makes a face, trying to imagine it. Harry inches a bit closer.

“Two. My family’s local. I didn’t want to go here like the rest of my brothers, but it turns out they have one of the better Kinesiology programs within a few hours of here. If I don’t make the national team in a few years as a player, I’ll make it as a trainer.” She holds her fist up and counts two fingers out.

“Two. My family’s… small. Only fi- four of us.” He pauses a minute, sneaks a glance at Ginny laying next to him, the starlight gleaming red from her hair. “I want to take over my parent’s business, follow my dad’s footsteps. I even have his middle name - Harry James Potter.”

She turns quickly: “You’re _Harry_ Potter? James is your dad? I grew up watching him, wanting to be out there just like him. Your mother’s beautiful,” she confesses.

“I’ll get you our Christmas card. We gave each other different animal sweaters. Dad got a dog, mom got a deer, and I got a horse, because I used to love them as a kid.”

“Heh. My family has horses. I’ll swap you.” 

Another pause. A grin from Harry. The alcohol’s starting to wear off, as the cool air passes through.

“Three. I didn’t really want to go this morning. To that church. But Hermione… is a different friend than I’ve had before, she’s willing to listen to me, so I thought I’d come with for once and say hi to Ron. Since they started dating, they’ve both looked so much happier. Like Ron’s finally found someone he can trust to call him out.”

“Hermione’s always been ambitious,” Harry says. “Our families went to church together. She saw the pope on TV, the bishops and priests in front of the cathedral, and said “I want to stand there too. So she spent a summer, visited some churches and convinced them to sponsor her full ride through a doctoral program. Said they’re missing out on so much by not having women at the pulpit.” He puts up a hand, matching the three fingers on hers.

“Three. I feel like I missed out on so much by transferring in, so I decided to try something new every Sunday. Today’s was supposed to be a party, but I’m kind of glad I went this morning. It reminded me of Sundays at home when I was growing up. Church in the mornings, and dinner with the whole family in the evening.” 

He stops, shivers. Inches a bit closer (for warmth, he rationalizes). Ginny’s shoulders press on his.

“Four. My grandfather was dying. That’s why I stayed home. My family’s always just been us five - my parents, me, Fleamont and grandma Euphie. My mom’s family is… distant, we don’t see them much at all. He got sick, and I couldn’t leave the three of them just to watch. We’ve always had my parent’s closest friends, my uncles Siri and Remus, but it’s not the same.”  

He speaks slowly, taking measured breaths between the words, pausing to look up at the stars. He looks for Canis Major in the sky, forgets it’s only up in the mornings for the next few months. His hands count four, and Ginny’s does too.

“Five,” Ginny whispers.

She shifts and puts her head on his shoulder, counts five with her hands. Harry does too, and takes her hand in his.

“Five. I think Hermione and Ron meant for us to meet this morning.” 

“Why do you think that?”

“Because they know us, and they know what we need, and they know what we want.” 

“What do you need?”

“To know it’ll be okay. That my family’s just changing, and that my parents want the best for me, and that my grandma will be okay. That I’ll come home and have grown and have a sip of Fleamont’s 21 year old bottle of whiskey with my dad.” It’s an easy answer. 

“What do you want?”

Harry pulls Ginny over him, so that her hair falls on his face, and he can smell what’s left of her perfume, and look into her brown eyes. Their counting hands are on the grass, and he uses his other to dip her head down, to guide her lips to his. 

The kiss is sweet, lingering. He tastes the cinnamon from their drinks as he runs his tongue over her lips, presses her closer to him. She pushes his head down into the earth with her lips - it’s commanding, needing, vulnerable. And their hands grasp each other’s, tenderly, softly, circles with her thumb and his fingers pressing into the back of her hand.

And it’s new and he hopes every Sunday this year is just like this.


End file.
